


Wishful Thinking

by fandomrambles



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26477470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomrambles/pseuds/fandomrambles
Summary: It's your first big mission since you were allowed to stay in Kirkwall. This will make or break your name. But who do you take with you - the brother who's itching to join an organisation that's dead against everything about you, or the mercenary you recruited who hates everyone around him?
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 10





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my very first foray into Dragon Age fanfic, I hope I've done my boy Fenris justice!

“Name?” the dwarf grunts.

“Fenris,” the elf behind you snarls back.

Bartrand looks up at him, tone unchanged. “Last name?”

“They don’t really give that privilege to Tevinter slaves,” Fenris replies through gritted teeth.

You elbow Isabela’s ribs playfully and start feigning a cough. “Help me, Bela, I think I’m choking on all this testosterone in the air.”

While you and your pirate friend laugh, Merrill in the background sniffs the air, “Well, I can’t sense anything, which is weird, because normally I’m the one that senses what others can’t.” She moves closer to the two arguing men, who pause their quarrel to watch her in awe as she moves around the district, nose high in the air, looking more and more perplexed with every sniff.

Isabela rolls her eyes, “I’ll go get her,” before calling out, “Kitten! Strangers don’t often approve of you sniffing them!”

Aveline and Anders exchange looks of regret before turning to Hawke. “Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want me to stay back and help…” Aveline starts, trailing off while looking in Merrill’s direction.

“Babysit?” Anders finishes with a snicker.

You glare at him before turning to Aveline and shaking your head. “I need you and Fenris on the front line of attack while me and Varric take out the oncoming hordes before they can get to you.”

“‘ _ Meanwhile, my dear brother shall be sitting around, twiddling his thumbs and awaiting the heroes’ return while his sword rusts away _ ’,” Carver mocks.

With an automatic retch, you shiver, “Please don’t talk to your older sister about your rusty sword.”

“I expect crudeness like that from Isabela, but not from you,  _ sister _ ,” Carver retaliates.

“Y-you  _ do _ know I have a name, right?” you ask, holding your hand out between you and your brother. “You don’t have to just call me “sister”.”

“Well, everyone else calls you Hawke, since you’re apparently the only one with that surname to exist within the borders of Kirkwall,” Carver sneers. “Gotta remind them that I’m one of them too somehow.”

Bartrand whistles between his finger and thumb, “Hey! I still need a last name for the elfin sketchbook over here. Insurance purposes, you know.”

“Just, put him under my name if you have to,” you wave off.

You didn’t realise Isabela and Merrill had rejoined your group until you hear Isabela’s smooth taunt in your ear, “Wishful thinking, Hawke?”

“Piss off,” you hiss under your breath, making her laugh.

“Can’t say I blame you. Anyone would feel that type of way watching him handle that great big sword of hi-”

Another, much less playful, jab to Isabela’s ribs causes her to become winded. “Your reputation precedes you, you know.”

Aveline is the last to sign up, and you say your goodbyes. You make them all sign a treaty that they’ll get along at least until your return, to mixed response. Anders and Carver both tut at it and turn their noses up in perfect unison, and you pointing out how in sync they were leads them to, again in unison, stride away from each other. Isabela finds the treaty hilarious, and Merrill doesn’t understand why everyone’s so angry about it.

“I won’t miss all this uproar in the Deep Roads,” Fenris rubs his inner ear with his finger.

“Yes, I think the sweet dulcet tones of the darkspawn are much preferable,” you agree sarcastically, earning a single chuckle and, is that a smirk? It’s gone before you can tell. Besides, you don’t really want to make a habit of staring at Fenris’ lips. Especially not with the thought of Isabela practically humming the Wedding March in the back of your mind.

𝌅

When Bartrand finally informs you that this particular thaig is safe enough to make camp, you throw yourself against the nearest stalagmite and hug it in relief. Bodahn presents you with a collection of preserved food in thanks for the safe return of Sandal, which you all feast at over the fire. However, you’re too distracted by your own thoughts. It’s only when Aveline grabs your arm that you realise half a piece of dried meat is hanging out of your mouth while you absent-mindedly stare at the flickering flames.

“What’s on your mind?” she asks sincerely.

“I just hope the others are doing alright without me,” you frown.

“It’s been a day, Hawke. They survived without you before,” she chuckles.

“Yeah, apart. I suppose as long as Merrill sticks with Isabela, Anders stays in his clinic and Carver never goes near him. I suppose I’m most worried  _ about _ Carver. He and Bethany… How do I put this? It’s like they were each other’s impulse control.” Aveline nods in understanding. “I just hope that he doesn’t go and do something stupid like join the Templar order the second my back is turned.”

Fenris looks up from his place amongst the shadows. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Yeah, my mistake, I’d just  _ love _ to resurface to the news that Carver Hawke, son of an apostate and darling brother to two mage sisters, has decided the moment he’s without any of them to ignore everything they ever fought against and shove his head up that Cullen fellow’s arse!” You reply sourly. You don’t hear anymore from Fenris after that. You’ll feel bad for speaking to him in that tone eventually, but not right now.

“Your brother’s a good kid, Hawke,” Varric chimes in. “I’m sure he’ll know better.”

“If he doesn’t, every first round from now onwards at the Hanged Man is yours,” you half-heartedly joke, to light laughter around the fire. You sigh. “His attitude when I left him didn’t seem all that… Amicable. I wanted him to stay to look after Mother and keep Gamlen out of trouble. He’s changed since Kirkwall.”

Aveline wraps a comforting arm around you. “Well, no matter what, we’re here for  _ you _ , Hawke. Family doesn’t always have to be bound by blood.”

You chuckle, “Let’s maybe not share that sentiment with the blood mage who takes things literally though.” Laughter echoes through the cavern and starts to disperse as people retire to the designated sleeping area. Soon it’s just you sat at the fire, watching spikes rise and bounce and fly away.

Or at least, you thought it was just you. Until the clattering of spiked armor started bearing towards you. “Hawke.” Fenris starts.

You sigh again. “Fenris, I don’t think now’s the time to arg-”

“I just wanted to apologise for my filterless words,” he interjects. “I know very little about family. I hope I have not fueled any disdain for your brother with my own words.”

You shake your head. “Your situation is very different from ours. I can understand why you would be… reserved around mages, but then when you willingly join one...” you gesture towards yourself and then drop your hands to hang off your knees in resignation. “What are you planning… to do to me while we work together?”

Fenris’ face turns to panic, though you do not look up to see it. “Hawke, I would never so much as turn my fist on you!”

“Why not?” You finally look up at him. “What separates me from all the other mages, hm?”

“You’re not as - Well-” Fenris stutters, and you beckon him over and pat the rock next to you.

“No, come on, we’re doing this. I get why you hate magisters. Anyone who went through what you did would. But you’re putting all your trust in me right now. A mage. While you’re very vocally against mages.”

Fenris perches on the edge of the seat next to you. “It’s… A difficult one to navigate. There’s just something about you, Hawke. Your passion towards helping your fellow man, elf, dwarf, Qun - you just  _ care _ . I’m not used to mages who do that.”

You narrow your eyes. “There’s more to it than that, I think.” Fenris shuffles back to look at you in questioning and you continue, “Anders is a literal healer for those who cannot afford the wealth of potions that we have. Yet you can’t see past Justice.”

“It is true that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust the abomination,” he agrees. “But I’d rather live in distrust in case I’m right than put my faith into someone who’ll betray me.”

“But if you keep closing yourself away from everyone else, you’ll never know what trust feels like. You can’t live like that, Fen,” you put a hand to his armor, trying not to laugh at the ironic metaphor of trying to comfort him but knowing he won’t feel it.

“I have done all my life.”

“Yeah, and look where that’s got you(!)” you retort. “Look. You were around bad people. The worst kind of people. And you got out of it, alone. You made it to Kirkwall, alone. Until you couldn’t do it alone.”

“...I wasn’t alone all of the time,” Fenris mutters. “I’d find campsites of other fugitives. Sometimes I’d make camp and others would seek my shelter. When I first escaped in Tevinter, and I was a high commodity, a very kind lady took me in for a short while. You could say I became very well-versed in the art of  _ company _ rather quickly,” he smirks. You watch his mouth turn up again, and so does your heart.

You quickly defer any kind of emotion by shoving him playfully, “You dog! So I take it this kind lady owned…”

“A brothel, yes,” he nodded, “just on the outskirts of town. Far away enough to not taint the town’s name with sin, close enough for them to sneak in past the barrier without being noticed.”

You’re curious about something, but you’re not sure how to approach it. “I… So did you… Did they make you  _ earn _ your kee-”

“I did not work for them in that regard,” Fenris states plainly. “But enough of the…  _ other employees _ were fascinated enough with me that they offered me their company for free.” There was an air of smugness in his voice, like he was an expert from day one.  _ Fenris Hawke, sex god… now there’s a thought. _ Your inner Isabela voice echoes in your mind.

“So, they helped you hide until those cronies weren’t patrolling the streets for you,” you prompt.

“Yes, and as soon as the street searches were halted, I fled. I didn’t even tell them I’d gone - I wouldn’t want to put them in danger if they had any kind of precious information about where I was headed,” Fenris’ tone shifted to one of sadness, longing.

“See, there are good people out there if you open up to them,” you smirk, and Fenris laughs. You watch his mouth again, and he notices, quickly stopping in his tracks.

“Is something the matter with my mouth, Hawke?” he asks.

Snapping out of your trance, you shake your head, “Not at all! Why?”

“You seem to stare at it a lot lately,” he muses.

“Don’t kid yourself, it’s only when you’re smiling. A sight that rare deserves a fully attentive audience,” you retaliate, hoping he doesn’t catch on.

Fenris nods, “But of course.” There’s a hint of restraint in his voice that you put all your effort into nonchalantly brushing past it. You once again appreciate the irony of your own actions. “You ought to get some sleep, Hawke.” He’s quick to change the subject. “The sooner we get out of this place, the better.”

You smirk, “Aww, is the widdle elf afraid of the dark?” You consider pinching his cheek but honestly, with the headspace you’re in, having Fenris’ face in your hand in any regard sounds like both a very good idea and a very bad one.

He lets out a single, humourless chuckle. “Hah, let’s not forget, I am my own nightlight.”

You almost fall off your perch laughing, to which Fenris instantly holds you steady. You wrap your arm around his shoulder,  _ just for leverage of course _ , and push yourself back to safety. “You know, you’re a lot more tolerable when you’re making light of your situation. Oh no,” you laugh again, leaning over to press your head into his shoulder to keep your balance. “I’m sorry, I genuinely didn’t mean that as a pun.”

“I’ll allow it.” You can hear the smile in his voice, but you know the second you turn to look at it, he’ll have stopped. When you do raise your head, you stop in your tracks as you realise your hair is brushing against Fenris’ jawline. Once you stop, your lips seem to align perfectly with his. All you’d have to do is lean in just a little closer to those stupid, smirky, perfectly kissable lips…

Fenris quickly snaps you back into reality though, leaning over so you’re sitting straight and shuffling away from you. “This isn’t getting either of us rested for tomorrow.”

You recompose yourself, “Of course. Goodnight, Fen.”

“Sleep well.” Again, he sounds as though he’s restraining himself from something. You don’t look any further into it, instead opting to heed his advice and get some sleep.

𝌅

The next day, you’re shaken awake by an unexpectedly happy voice. “Hawke! Get up!”

“Bartrand, you’d better have found a thaig made of solid gold if you’re gonna wake me this early with this amount of enthusiasm.”

“Just as good!” His eyes practically bulge from his head. “The next one up is ancient. I got a head start with my boys and cleared a path to some sort of treasure room.”

“And you didn’t think to… Collect your treasure?” you ask sleepily, reluctantly pushing yourself up to a seated position.

Bartrand tuts, looking around and crossing his arms before rolling his eyes at you. “You humans are far too gullible. There’s obviously some kind of trap, that you and  _ your _ crew are gonna disarm for us.”

You fold your arms and, for once, look up at the dwarf. “And you call  _ me _ gullible? What’s stopping me from taking that treasure and running?”

“Well,” Bartrand’s smile becomes less excited and more menacing, “you either run one way, into whatever the fuck darkspawn live further down here, or you run the other way, straight back to us. You don’t want all that loot weighing you down, surely.”

You grit your teeth and tense your fists, but Aveline soon comes to your side. “Hawke. We’ve prepared breakfast. No use fighting on an empty stomach.”

Grumbling in defeat, you follow Aveline to the campfire. Fenris soon joins the group as well, skulking in the shadows as per usual. You frown at him and beckon him closer with your head. With a sigh, he reluctantly gets up and sits on the other side of the rock you’re perched on yourself. You pull a face, lifting your undershirt out just slightly to sniff around your underarm area and look at Fenris in confusion. He laughs under his breath, a confirmation that you have not offended him by asking him to join the group as an equal.

𝌅

You should have seen Bartrand’s betrayal coming a mile off. The frustration that you didn’t angers you more than his actions. Instead, every blow to a darkspawn is met by a very specific, oddly alliterative insult. “Bloody bastard brother!” “Dumbass, dickless dwarf!” “Pathetic, putrid parasite!” At one point during an ambush from behind, you were so blinded by your own rage that you forgot every spell you’ve ever learned and instead just started bashing Hurlocks’ heads in with the end of your staff. Even the others stopped for a moment to watch you in disbelief.

And then the Ancient Rock Wraith. You’re trying to focus all your mana on fighting it but your team are struggling. Varric’s the first to fall back; despite trying his best to stay in the shadows, those Profane aren’t fools. They sussed out Varric’s game plan soon enough. And then Aveline. Poor thing’s shield is useless against that beam. Fenris is making some real damage but he’s staggering. He downs his last bottle of potion right as the wraith throws its weight down onto his head. While the wraith recovers itself, you rush straight to his aid, using the last of your mana to heal him. With his newfound energy, he swings his sword down right as you cast ice straight into the wraith’s eye.

As the wraith collapses, so do you, out of sheer weariness, on top of Fenris. Once everything becomes quiet, you giggle, “You know without my magic saving you, you’d have been toast just then, right?”

He chuckles, before growling in pain and sitting up to hold his head in his hands. “I suppose, but at what cost?” As Aveline and Varric start limping towards you, you throw a couple of injury kits their way. As they patch themselves up, you check over Fenris once more. “I’ll be fine, Hawke. I think a migraine after having a giant rock throw itself on my head is justified.”

You look into his eyes with great concern, and when he looks into yours, everything suddenly feels lighter, better, slower. Nothing hurts with Fenris.

Once you’ve both regained your energy, you’re dragged up by the scruff of your breastplate by Aveline as Varric runs towards what looks like a vault. “Settle down, Varric, you’re not gonna get very far without this,” you waggle the key above his head as you overtake him and unlock the door.

The sight before you looks like something out of a novel. A fairytale hero’s reward. Piles and piles of coins, armor, weapons, jewelry. You’re stuck in a trance looking at the vast riches when Fenris nudges you out of it to show you the greatest sight of all: sunlight poking out of a cavern mouth.

It’s Aveline that eventually pulls you out of your second trance of the day, the way you’re watching Fenris’ eyes glisten at the sight of freedom and his lips mouth a soft ‘wow’. She gives you a small, knowing smirk and starts scooping up sets of armor to throw into your arms. You worry about how you’re going to get all this moved, but Bodahn and Sandal soon trundle towards you -  _ how did they get through that door?  _ \- with their supply cart, and begin offloading your treasures onto it. 

You offer to help pull the cart through the rocks to the surface, but someone pushes in front of you to take it. Your heart soars when you realise it’s Fenris offering to help his teammates. He looks to you, almost like he’s about to resent any praise he anticipates you giving him, before gesturing towards the cavern entrance, “After you, Hawke.”

𝌅

News seems to travel of your success. By the time you make it back through the Kirkwall gates, the viscount is there greeting you. His guard keeps the other citizens at bay as they celebrate your arrival. You rush through the ceremonial talks with him and inform him of your mother’s true inheritance. You’re practically out of the door the second he tells you the Amell estate is yours.

You find Bodahn and Sandal, tell them to keep the treasure at the estate and also make themselves at home. Boghdan practically kisses your feet at the sentiment and quickly gets moving. You ask a guard if your mother is here for what appears to be a welcome party, and they inform you she is at the Chantry with your brother. Your heart drops a little but you remain optimistic. Perhaps there is something else there that they are attending to. 

Your heart sinks to the floor when you see Carver in the courtyard wearing That Armor. With all your energy, you charge towards him, knock him back and scream the same sentiment you used against Bartrand, “Bloody bastard brother!”

“Hello to you too,  _ sister _ ,” he sneers.

“How could you? You grew up with  _ two  _ aposta- you were  _ raised by one _ , how  _ could you?! _ ” You cry. 

“Because of just that!” He yells back. “Because I’m fed up of being Bethany’s twin. Or  _ Hawke’s  _ brother. I’m a damn Hawke too, you know! I’m the only one who can carry the name, but  _ no.  _ Father named me after a templar. I’ve heard what mages around here do. Why can’t I just do what  _ I want? _ ”

Your mother sobs in the background. “The Chantry is so dangerous… Please, I can’t lose all three of you.”

“How else are we to make a living, Mother?” Carver asks.

The tension filling the air cuts for a split second as your party rejoins you. It fills again as Aveline and Varric make identical sounds of disappointment when they see Carver, and even Fenris makes… some kind of growl.

Merrill ducks behind you and pokes her head around your shoulder. For the first time in over a year, you watch his face fill with genuine remorse. “Merrill, please -” She hides behind your back with a squeak. Feeling totally oblivious to the signs of anything having formed between the two - in all honesty, your money was more on Merrill and Isabela - your instinct is to protect the young mage. Carver sighs, “I promise, I will never let the Chantry touch any of you, okay?” He looks at you and at Anders, then round your shoulder. Merrill squeezes your arm, and you reach back to take her hand.

“Well, you’ve obviously made up your mind. If it makes you happy… I suppose I support it,” you admit defeat. Relief washes over Carver’s face, and he moves to hug you but you put your free hand out to stop him. He nods in understanding, turns on his heel and makes his way towards the Chantry. After a few beats of silence, you let out a weak, “Varric?”

“I’m a man of my word, Hawke,” he replies. “A trip to Lowtown’s in order.”

𝌅

By the end of the night, your mood is lighter, as is your wallet and, for a short time, your head. It was once you were at that point that you decided to stop drinking and let the high carry you through the night. You didn’t want to leave anyone behind - except the two who live here, obviously - but they’d long since retired to their rooms. Aveline had walked Merrill and Anders home. It was just you and Fenris.  _ Excellent _ . 

“I’m… sorry about your brother,” Fenris mumbles. 

“Remember the rules! No family talk tonight,” you waggle your finger at him but he looks at you with pure sincerity.

“I mean it. I know it may be hypocritical of me considering my stance, but… If you ever need to get  _ broody  _ about it, I’ve been told I’m quite good company for that,” he smirks. You laugh hard, and his smile widens. Your eyes are drawn to it immediately. He points out, “You’re staring at my mouth again.”

You take a deep breath in and sit upright. “Because you smiled again.”

You brace for his usual act of self-restraint, but instead, he smoulders, “That can’t be helped around such pleasant company.”

“See, I knew you were drunk!” You point at him.

He smirks, “I live amongst bottles of the finest wines in all of the Free Marches, and you think a few mugs of the dishwater they call beer here makes a difference?”

“Your face muscles are a lot more relaxed, that’s for sure,” you reply.

Fenris chuckles, “What exactly was that spell you cast on me earlier?”

“Was that really only earlier today? Maker,” you shake your head and hold it in your hands. Fenris laughs again and it’s almost instinct at this point to look up to watch him.

“You’re doing it again,” Fenris points out smugly.

“Is it offending you?” You ask.

“The attention of a beautiful woman? Never,” Fenris rests his elbow on the table and his jaw on his fist.

Flustered, you shake your head. “Okay, you’re definitely off your head.”

He chuckles. “Only the slightest bit tipsy. Enough for my filter to call it a night.”

You lean in slightly. “Ooh, now I’m interested. What’s Fenris Unfiltered like?”

He leans closer, purring, “Currently, he’s very,  _ very  _ distracted.”

“If only there were something we could do about turning those distracting thoughts into reality,” you smirk before closing the gap between you entirely. 

Despite the energy you had been expecting from him, Fenris is a gentle kisser. He reaches out to cradle your face gently, holding it in place as he places peck after peck against your lips. He eventually leans back slightly to smirk, “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”

You take a moment to collect your thoughts. “Well, given your story, I’d have thought there’d be a little more… passion,” you admit. 

Fenris chuckles again, taking your hand in his and brushing it against his lips before pulling you closer to mutter in your ear, “Oh, but there is, Hawke. You just have to let the anticipation build first.” He places one more soft peck to your neck, just below your ear, and a wave of euphoria washes over you like you’ve never felt before.

You spend the rest of the night exchanging sweet nothings, risqué remarks and general banter until Norah finally tells you to get a room or get out. Fenris insists on walking you home, although the thugs seem to be pretty quiet tonight. Once you get to your new house, Fenris lets out a low whistle. “So, this is all yours.”

“Well, and Mother’s. And the merchants’. And the dog’s. But yes,” you smile.

“I never thought I’d be so jealous of a dog for having you as its first sight of every day and yet here we are,” he smirks.

You raise your eyebrows, “Well… that could be arranged for tonight…”

With another grin, Fenris pushes you against the door and kisses you again, this time with much more fervor. You try desperately to keep your body as close to his as you can, but his second, rougher kiss only lasted a fraction of the time as his first did. 

Instead, he takes your chin in his hand, his thumb just pressing down on your lower lip. Something about being held like that sends a real rush through you, one that makes you want to just open the door behind you and drag him in with you. Pressing his forehead to yours, he whispers, “Let it build,” before slowly dragging his thumb off of your lip, kissing you gently one more time and striding away before you can comprehend it all.

Maybe you’ll develop something big with Fenris. Maybe you won’t. But around him, you finally understand your brother’s intentions: you’re not who everyone expects or needs you to be - with Fenris, you can get away from all that for a while and just be you. And even if that’s all it ends up being between you, that little respite from the real world, that’s enough. 


End file.
